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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28140267">You're My Dad [Boogie Woogie Woogie]</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWing15/pseuds/SilverWing15'>SilverWing15</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I'm Writing Fanfiction About Block Men God Help Me [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Gods &amp; Goddesses, the parallels, the parallels guys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:35:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,036</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28140267</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverWing15/pseuds/SilverWing15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilbur’s face shutters, expression wiped clean. “Fine.” He says, like he doesn’t care, like it doesn’t matter. “I’ll do it myself then.”<br/>He turns and gathers his pack and Fundy’s father is leaving him again.<br/>///<br/>“Leave my son alone,” Phil snarls, the sky flares with light above them, thunder rumbles again.<br/>Dream laughs until he’s gasping for breath, and finally he says: “make me.”<br/>He flies up to meet Philza and they crash together with the sound of a mountain crumbling. They rise together, swirling around each other, power flashing in their eyes, in their hands, in the air around them.<br/>The sky weeps and Wilbur prays to the stars that his father hasn’t just left him forever.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Floris | Fundy &amp; Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I'm Writing Fanfiction About Block Men God Help Me [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057121</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>818</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Completed stories I've read</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You're My Dad [Boogie Woogie Woogie]</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is it guys! The end of Godling AU! Thank you to everyone who read, bookmarked, left kudos, and commented! I've really enjoyed writing this for you guys!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>We need to get Phil out here,” Techno says, already pulling something out of his belt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Wilbur shouts, lunging over Tubbo’s prone body to catch his brother’s hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy watches them wrestle over a little sachet without really processing it. Everything had happened so fast. One moment he and Wilbur had been arguing again, and then there had been sounds from the forest, Tubbo’s voice, Techno’s, and then the clash of iron, and then the </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughter</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes his fur stand on end just remembering it, a sound so terribly </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span> coming from Tubbo’s lips. The things he’d been saying to Techno, the way his hand had brought the edge of his sword to his own throat so easily. The way that even when Wilbur had pulled it away, he’d tried to get another blade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy knew that Dream was powerful, and cruel, but there is a difference between knowing and </span>
  <em>
    <span>knowing.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The way he does now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t stay here,” Fundy says, interrupting a brewing argument between Techno and Wilbur. “Dream knows where we are, he’ll be here any minute.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Techno says, jerking his arm out of Wilbur’s grip, “that’s why we need to get Phil over here so he can take us back to the bunker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> going back there!” Wilbur shouts, “I’m not getting locked up like some </span>
  <em>
    <span>child</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>hiding</span>
  </em>
  <span> until Dream decides that he’s gotten bored of hunting us! That could take </span>
  <em>
    <span>years!</span>
  </em>
  <span> We’re better off staying on the move, Fundy, come on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously?” Fundy curls his hands into fists, his claws bite into the pads of his palms. “You think you can just come back here after </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> and order me around? I’ve got news for you, Will, I’m not a child either. And I’m not as stupid as you. Dream took over Tubbo’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>mind</span>
  </em>
  <span> from who knows how far away. We can’t fight him. We have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And if Phil can get us out of here alive then I’m going with him!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stares at him, and for one, glorious, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shining moment</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Fundy thinks he’s gotten through to him. That his father will actually listen to him, this one time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Wilbur’s face shutters, expression wiped clean. “Fine.” He says, like he doesn’t care, like it doesn’t matter. “I’ll do it myself then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns and gathers his pack and Fundy’s father is leaving him again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur doesn’t need them, he doesn’t need any of them. He isn’t a coward, he isn’t a child. He’ll fight Dream on his own, he’ll keep them safe on his own. Dream has torn his family to shreds and Phil is going to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>let</span>
  </em>
  <span> him and hide everyone away. Dream isn’t going to get bored, he’s only going to get angrier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Waiting won’t work, they have to fight. If Wilbur’s the only one who sees that then he’ll handle this himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps his blade unsheathed as he wanders through the forest. He must be half a mile by the time Phil arrives, but he can still catch the edge of the wind that Phil summons as he carries the others to safety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is what Wilbur wanted, they’re safe and he’ll deal with Dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s the way it should be. He’s the one who started the war, he’s the one who founded L’manberg, he’s the one who started this. It should end with him. He put his family in danger, now he’ll keep them safe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops walking, he won’t find Dream, Dream will find him, and this clearing is as good a place to make a final stand as any. Wilbur settles in to wait, he’s sure Dream won’t be long. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream appears in front of him with a pop of displaced air, leaning against the tree in front of Wilbur as if he’s the one who’s been waiting. “Well,” he says, “this is interesting.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stands ready, blade drawn, aimed at Dream’s heart. “You’re going to leave my family alone,” he says, firm, strong.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well now its boring.” Dream pouts, “do you know how many times I’ve heard this speech?” He holds up a fist, shaking it at the sky and affecting a stern voice deeper than his natural one, “begone foul demon, you will do no more harm in these lands. I will stop you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swings the fist out like he is slapping something away and the sword flies out of Wilbur’s grip so fast and so hard that it stings his fingers as it goes. Dream paces across the clearing like a lion, “do you know what happened to all those people, Wilbur? They </span>
  <em>
    <span>failed</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They died. Just like you will.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur opens his mouth, he doesn’t even know what he’s going to say, but he never gets the chance anyway. Dream’s hand snaps up, quick as a striking snake and closes around his throat, the ground drops out from under his feet. “Its not going to be quick, either, Wilbur.” Dream whispers into his ear, as if he’s sharing a secret, “you and I are going to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much fun.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurts to breathe, it hurts to exist. Dream crouches over him, “don’t tell me you’re nearly dead already,” he says, like Wilbur’s imminent demise is an inconvenience and nothing more. To him it probably is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur thinks its more of a pressing issue but it isn’t the first time he and Dream haven’t seen eye to eye. He tries to roll away from Dream, tries to get back to his feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun</span>
  </em>
  <span> anymore,” Dream muses, “seriously, what is </span>
  <em>
    <span>taking</span>
  </em>
  <span> Phil so long?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He isn’t coming,” Wilbur rasps, “he’s never there when he’s supposed to be, but he always shows up when he’s not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream groans, “you can’t even have </span>
  <em>
    <span>daddy issues</span>
  </em>
  <span> in an interesting way. Oh boo-hoo, my dad doesn’t spend every waking moment with me. You know I bet if it was that little fox kid here he’d be saying the exact same thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You leave Fundy out of this,” Wilbur snarls, blood speckles his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow who could have predicted you’d say that,” Dream says in a monotone. He flops back so he’s sitting down cross legged, elbow on his knee, wrist under his chin. He fiddles with a bit of leaf litter. “You know I might just head out really, I’ve still got like…” he counts on his fingers, “four more of you little shits to get through? I’m sure Phil’ll show up eventually.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raises a hand, crackling with power and Wilbur knows that this is how he dies. Here, alone, having failed his family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would say its been fun,” Dream says, “but really its been pretty boring.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything goes black. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only, actually its only the sky that goes black. Wilbur can still see the treetops, can still see Dream’s power, bright in the sudden darkness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thunder rumbles like a growl from a beast the size of a mountain. So loud that it shakes the earth, stones rattle, leaves come loose from their branches, the branches themselves come tumbling down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream laughs, high and piercing and he screams, “</span>
  <b>
    <em>YES</em>
  </b>
  <b>!”</b>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Phil descends from the sky like a bolt of lightning fierce and bright, wings materialized and power shining in his eyes, crackling in the air around him. Dream is on his feet, staring up at Phil with wonder and delight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave my son alone,” Phil snarls, the sky flares with light above them, thunder rumbles again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream laughs until he’s gasping for breath, and finally he says: “make me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flies up to meet Philza and they crash together with the sound of a mountain crumbling. They rise together, swirling around each other, power flashing in their eyes, in their hands, in the air around them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sky weeps and Wilbur hopes to the stars that his father hasn’t just left him forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gods do not fight as mortal men do, they do not aim for heart and lungs and head. The heart of a god does not lie in their body, they are not beings of flesh, they are not mortal. They are beings of ideas, they are immortal as the things that they anchor themselves to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chaos will always come, and Dream will always live. But chaos is a thing of tides, it rises and falls, replaced always by stability, no matter how brief the time. Dream is powerful, and Dream is eternal. But he waxes and wanes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Phil was once his opposite, his mirror. He was order, or as close to order as a god could become. He faltered when Dream rose, and Dream fell as he reigned. They were in balance, they were equals. And years before, Dream would have won this battle. Chaos reigns, despite his son’s attempts to tame it. Order is fallen, order is weak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there will always be fathers who love their sons. Every day, in every nation, in every world, and Phil is one of them. Order, chaos, concepts that are ephemeral, that rise and fall and Dream is welcome to them. Phil is a father, and he loves his sons, and that is simplicity. That is, in the hands of a god, power. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>*** </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream crashes to the earth a few yards away from him. The ground shakes, cracking and caving beneath the weight of a god. Phil rises above them, the storm ascendant, his eyes shine brighter than the sun, his wings are wider than the sky. “You are beaten. Be gone and trouble my sons no further.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For now,” Dream agrees, climbing to his feet as though he’d simply fallen, not been thrown from the sky. He brushes off his shoulder. “I’ll give you credit Phil, this has at least been fun. But you know what would be hilarious?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur doesn’t even see the blow, he just feels the pain. He gasps as Phil screams his fury, its like his blood has been set on fire. Its like the air he breathes is full of blades. He can’t even feel Phil’s hands on his face, smoothing back his hair. He can’t hear him, but he can see his lips moving as he mutters something that might be “hang on, just hang on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is this how he dies?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he can breathe, he gasps for breath as Phil pulls him into his chest, pressing Wilbur’s face into his neck. His hands rub up and down Wilbur’s back, he presses his face into Will’s hair and Will can finally hear him. “Wilbur,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, but so, so tender. Like Will’s name is the holiest thing to cross his lips. “My son, </span>
  <em>
    <span>my son.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur curls his hand into a fist in Phil’s jacket and breathes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Its been a week and Wilbur hasn’t woken up. Its probably closer to six days at this point, its late if Fundy has any sense of time left. Phil had said that he would be out for a while, even with the healing that Phil had done, and the potions that Techno had given him, Dream’s curse had been a vicious thing. Phil had barely managed to get to him in time and he’d been </span>
  <em>
    <span>right there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy was so close to losing his father forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For real this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wake up damn you,” he mutters, but of course Wilbur doesn’t listen. When has he ever listened. Fundy ignores the burning of his eyes, the tears that want to fall. He holds Wilbur’s hand in his paws and lets his head hang. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur wasn’t the best father. He had been away for long periods at a time. When L’manberg fell, he’d run and all but forgotten his son, left behind with the enemy. Then he’d come back, but not for Fundy, but to destroy the city he’d built. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not a good father, but he’s the only one Fundy has. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t quite forgiveness, but it is a willingness to forgive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A soft groan, Fundy looks up and Wilbur’s eyes stare into his. They’re hazy at first, but then recognition flashes in them. “Fundy,” he says, soft and hoarse, his hand squeezes Fundy’s fingers. “My son.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey dad.” Fundy says, his voice isn’t choked, it isn’t. “Welcome home.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>[tearfully] you're my dad, boogie woogie woogie</p></blockquote></div></div>
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